Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Patient 42

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day One – 10:32

Hello Doctor Skipton. My name is Vera and I am the nursebot assigned to monitor Patient 42 post treatment. I have now been activated as the patient is awake for the first time since his initial treatment. It seems that you are away from your desk, so I will upload my report to the cloud for you to look at when you are available.

Patient 42 is one of the 100 volunteer patients engaged with an experiment to monitor the ability to visit alternate dimensions during an induced and prolonged dream state. Patient 42 is part of the subgroup of 10 patients who are utilising gas inductions for longer periods of sleep.

Patient 42 is still a little drowsy. I have yet to enter the observation chamber as I am still draining the gas from the vents. There is approximately 7 minutes left of this process. Patient 42 has not spoken yet, but his eyes are open and he appears well.

Patient 42 has complained of hunger and thirst and will be fed after the physical examination.

Patient 42 has been asleep for 58 hours and 17 minutes and so has awoken earlier than expected. I am unsure of why this is.

I have attempted to obtain reports from other nursebots to compare Patient 42’s progress with but unfortunately, they all seem to be offline. I will continue trying to reach them.

I will conduct a full physical examination when the draining is complete and will update you immediately upon completion.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day One – 10:57

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera again. It seems that you are still away from your desk, so I will upload this report to the cloud for you to check when you are available.

I have now completed the full physical examination of Patient 42. The majority of my findings were as expected but there were some irregularities that I will be investigating.

While Patient 42 has the expected anatomy of a human male for his age, there was an unusual marking imprinted on right forearm when he removed his clothing. The marking is about two inches long and one inch wide and appears to be a scratch from the claws of an animal. There is some depth to the marking, and there is redness and inflammation around the area.

I could not find the presence of ink or paint, so it does not appear to have been drawn or painted onto the skin.

Patient 42 did not have a logical explanation for the marking but spoke with confidence and certainty when he said that the markings were scratched onto his body by an entity he has labelled “Pesanta.”

It is my estimation that Pesanta is an invention of Patient 42’s imagination. There has been no unauthorised access to his room, according to the security system. Patient 42 appeared to confirm this by stating that he had a nightmare about Pesanta.

I asked him to elaborate but he told me that all he could remember was the name Pesanta and a burning sensation in the location of the markings.

I checked for signs that the marking had been burned onto the skin but found no evidence of this. It would appear that it appeared spontaneously. I am aware that this does not correlate with how human anatomy works, and will be investigating further.

I cleaned and dressed the marking, but Patient 42 stated that he was not in any pain.

There was dried blood and human skin underneath Patient 42’s fingernails. I will also be investigating this further.

I have again attempted to contact the other nursebots but they are still offline. It would appear that their subjects are still asleep.

I have now provided Patient 42 with sustenance and he will be induced again at 17:30. Until then, I have allowed Patient 42 to rest and enjoy leisure time. At present, he has not made use of the television or books provided to him and is staring at the door. He seems calm and his heart rate is normal.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day One – 16:57

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera.

Patient 42 has requested to be exempted from further treatment.

Patient 42 has become visibly agitated and distressed as the day has gone on and has made the request for treatment to be ceased several times.

I have confirmed to him that it is not possible to stop treatment at this time but this information has increased his distress.

I will continue the treatment as previously instructed but would appreciate assistance in this matter if possible.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day One – 17:42

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera.

I would appreciate some assistance with Patient 42. He is resisting induction by holding his breath repeatedly to avoid the gas. I have had to shut off the gas to monitor his breathing several times as he has come very close to losing consciousness when holding his breath and was likely to fall and injure himself.

Patient 42 appears distressed and has stated that he is “afraid of where he goes with the gas”. I have called for assistance from other nursebots but have had no response.

I will continue to attempt induction until you arrive.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day One – 18:27

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera.

I have been able to successfully induce Patient 42. I achieved this by playing soothing music through the sound system and by adding lavender to the vents. It was noted in Patient 42’s file that he enjoys this scent.

I will continue to monitor Patient 42 and report on any changes, as well as updates on my investigations into the irregularities I found during the physical examination.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day Two – 03:00

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera. I have been investigating the irregularities I found during Patient 42’s physical examination, but I have had to pause my activities multiple times due to irregularities in Patient 42’s sleeping.

Patient 42 has remained unconscious, as expected, but thrashes in bed, as if distressed. Patient 42 can be heard mumbling but what he is saying is unclear at this time.

The lights are set to low in the sleeping area of the observation chamber but have flickered on and off, at some points, adjusting to full brightness without the required command being activated and then cutting out for several seconds.

I believe that there is a malfunction in the lighting units and have requested a maintenance engineer to check on this. Sophie Beckett from maintenance has asked that you check in with her as they have also been unable to reach you. I told her that I would pass on the message.

Patient 42 continues to appear distressed but remains in a resting state and has not yet regained consciousness. His heart rate is raised and he appears to be perspiring profusely. A moment ago, I heard him growling, like a canine, before falling into silence again.

I have conducted some research on the entity that Patient 42 named as responsible for the marking on his arm, Pesanta, and it appears it is a mythical being from Catalan culture. Pesanta is listed in my knowledge archives as a large black dog with steel paws that terrorises sleeping victims. According to the research I have done, Pesanta has holes in his paws to stop it from stealing during visits to the victim’s homes. You may recall that Patient 42’s file mentions Catalan heritage on his father’s side.

It is my estimation that Patient 42 is suffering from nightmares, which is not unusual during the initial stages of treatment. It is likely that Patient 42 was told stories of this mythical being as a child and this has now manifested as nightmares.

In regards to the marking on his arm, it is possible that Patient 42 did this to himself in the course of a nightmare.

What I am having difficulty explaining is the blood and human skin underneath Patient 42’s fingernails. I expected the samples to match Patient 42’s DNA, with him scratching himself to make the marking on his arm.

Neither of the samples I took matched with the DNA we have on file for Patient 42, and in fact, they match with…


Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day Two – 04:13

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera.

It would appear that there was a power outage in the laboratory for approximately 1 hour and 13 minutes. When my system reactivated, Patient 42 was awake, and stood by the observation window in silence.

I am not sure why but there appears to be some losses in my system’s memory bank. I will complete a system sweep and see if I can locate the missing memory files.

In the meantime, I would appreciate your assistance with Patient 42 as he is now becoming aggressive. He is banging on the observation window and making strange sounds, again, like a canine.

I cannot see clearly due to constant movement by Patient 42 but it appears that he has injuries on both hands. There appears to be deep lacerations on the palm of both hands. I am unsure of how this happened.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day Two – 09:26

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera. I would appreciate it if you could confirm that you are receiving my reports. I am still unable to reach the other nursebots and I have not yet heard from the maintenance team.

I have however been able to locate my missing memory files and I am currently waiting for them to restore.

Patient 42 has refused food and water and is now resting in the sleeping area of the observation chamber. He appears to be awake from my readings but is lying still with his eyes closed.

I completed a physical examination this morning and can now confirm that there is a deep laceration on each hand, of significant depth. Patient 42 does not appear to be in pain from these lacerations, which is unusual. The previously mentioned marking on Patient 42’s right arm has become more inflamed but again, Patient 42 did not express any pain. Patient 42 refused to allow me to dress or clean his wounds.

I found more dried blood and human skin under the nails of Patient 42 during my examination and have taken samples to test.

I would appreciate you getting in contact Doctor Skipton, as I am growing concerned for the welfare of Patient 42, and also, your own welfare.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day Two – 11:53

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera.

I would appreciate you getting in contact as soon as possible.

I have been able to restore my lost memory files and can now confirm that before the power outage, I was about to report that the first blood and human skin samples I located under Patient 42’s nails matched with the on file DNA for Doctor Paul Skipton. I can also now confirm that the second blood and human skin samples I located under Patient 42’s nails matched with the on file DNA for Sophie Beckett, the head of maintenance.

As you can imagine, this is concerning.

As previously mentioned, I would appreciate you getting in contact as I need your assistance as a matter of urgency.

Patient 42 has now become agitated again and is pacing the observation chamber. Patient 42 is emitting a low growl as he walks and appears to be drooling.

I have my reservations about continuing treatment, despite my instructions. I will wait to hear from you but may need to make a judgement call if Patient 42’s condition worsens.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day Two – 17:26

Hello Doctor Skipton. It is Vera.

Patient 42 has had several episodes of strange behaviour today. After my previous report, he fell immediately unconscious for a period of around twenty five minutes. I monitored his vital signs throughout.

When Patient 42 awoke, he became distressed at his previously mentioned injuries and expressed a need for pain relief. He also asked again for the treatment to stop.

I administered 10 mgs of morphine and was finally able to clean and dress the wounds on Patient 42’s hands.

As I dressed the wounds, Patient 42 began to cry and stated that Pesanta had made him do something terrible. I asked him if he could elaborate and he instantly fell unconscious again.

When he regained consciousness, he was aggressive and began demanding that he was induced immediately. He is now pacing the room and is demanding that there is no further delay to the delivery of sleep gas.

I cannot get a clear look but it appears that his teeth have become sharpened. I am not sure how this has happened but will try to take a look when he has been induced.

I am about to start the induction routine as usual and will report back when I am able to do so.

Patient 42 – Post Waking Report – Day Three – 01:14

Hello Doctor Skipton. Vera is offline.

I suppose I should thank you. If you hadn’t left Francesco (or Patient 42 as you call him) in that little chamber for me, I never would have found him again.

You see, when he was a little boy, I used to visit him, but as he got older, he became so difficult to reach. Your sweet sleeping gas took away all the defences he’d spent a lifetime building up, and I was finally able to find him again.

We’re going to have so much fun.

The transformation is almost complete. As he sleeps, he is stolen from your world and he will become mine again.

I should also thank you for being my first meal in a long time. Each makes me stronger than the last, and with his body to explore your human world in, I will never be confined to storybooks and nightmares again.

I am free, and I have you to thank.

I will sign off now, as there is a whole facility of sleeping souls for me to enjoy.

Bona nit, Pesanta.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The Workshop

I am a night owl. I always have been, and I think I always will be. I struggle with sleeping, and for most of my life, I’d just scroll through the internet as the early hours of the morning crept closer, looking for something to entertain me. Now, my late nights have a purpose. I am going to find the people behind The Workshop, and I am going to make them pay.

I found The Workshop on Reddit two weeks ago. I flicked through the front page, bored and longing for tiredness when I saw a thread that piqued my interest.

It was a voice recording from some guy who was convinced his daughter was being tortured, live on the radio by her fiance. A few of the comments were mocking him, laughing and acting like he was faking it, but there was one, right at the bottom, that seemed to take him seriously. All it said was “Sounds like The Workshop. Just sent you a DM.”

I clicked through to his account and noticed that almost all his posts and comments were about The Workshop, but provided little to no information on what it was. Reaching the end of the short rabbit hole, I clicked away from his profile and went back to the front page, scrolling again and seeing nothing that took my fancy until the computer pinged, and I noticed that I had a new message.

“They’ve seen you looking.” It was the same user who’d left the initial comment about The Workshop. I stared at the message for a moment, unsure of how to respond, or if I even should respond. I hadn’t left a comment, or interacted with the user at all, so it freaked me out a little that they’d contacted me at all, but it was late at night, and I was a strange mix of bored and tired, so I ignored my hesitation and shot them a message back.

“Who saw me looking? And how do you know?” I only had to wait a few moments for a response, but the short seconds seemed to stretch out and took a quick glance around the room, laughing at the impossibility of their claim but unable to push down the anxiety that was rising through my body.

“The Workshop. I heard them mention you on the broadcast. Look out.” I jumped up from my computer, rushing over to the front door to check it was locked. I checked the windows too, unable to stop myself running through the whole flat to check every entrance, and when I was assured that nobody could get in, I returned to the computer, gulping as I saw another message from the stranger. “They’ve selected you to be tonight’s witness.” I looked at the screen in silence, unsure of what to make of it, and slightly regretting responding to the first message. They sent a link, with a follow up message, and that was the beginning of my nightmare. “They have your sister.”

I didn’t think about it at all, I just clicked the link. It opened a webpage with a video player in the centre, with a busy and buzzing live chat to the right.

“She’s so pretty.”

“What price does the bidding start tonight? I want her.”

“Are we going to get to see the cutie from earlier again?”

“Her brother is the witness lol.”

The video player jolted into life, showing a grainy CCTV image of a dark looking room. There was a girl at the centre, tied to a chair and seemingly unconscious. She didn’t move as the room filled with hooded figures who circled her, wordlessly. All I could hear was the shuffling of their feet against the floor as they walked around the chair.

My computer pinged again, but I couldn’t look away. The camera zoomed in and I could see a clearer image of her face. It was Sarah, my little sister. Undeniably. The computer pinged again, almost insistently, and I switched to the Reddit window, opening the messages, with the video window minimised in the corner.

“They got my little Cousin last year, so I’ve been following them for a while.” I kept one eye on the video player as I kept reading their messages.

“She was only nineteen.” As I finished reading, the computer pinged again with another message from the stranger. “I want to take them down.” The shadowy figures circling my sister began to step back, dispersing as one stepped forward.

“Where are they? I need to call the police!” My fingers shook as I typed. I watched a man step towards my sister, removing his hood. The rest of the crowd knelt in a circle around them.

“The police can’t help you.” They responded as I watched in terror, my eyes darting between their messages and the video player. “The gas gets them ready for him.” She suddenly sat up, conscious and aware of her surroundings. My heart plummeted as I saw the panic on her face. “We can’t save her, I’m sorry.” Tears sprung from my eyes as I saw the terror in Sarah’s eyes as she struggled against her bonds. “She’ll live but she won’t be the same afterwards.” Sarah looked terrified, and I wanted to tear my eyes away but they were frozen in place. “He needs her soul.” The camera zoomed into Sarah’s face, and her tears fell as fast as mine did, fear etched all over her face. More messages flew in from the stranger. “When you watch or listen, it makes him stronger. You need to look away.” I wanted to, more than I could ever express but I was stuck, glued to the spot and staring in horrified tears at the screen.

“I need to help her.” I typed through my tears, minimising the video player, but instantly opening it again, unable to stop myself.

“You can’t. She will live, but you can’t stop this. I’m sorry.” I felt sick, watching the man round on my sister as the camera zoomed out. “He never normally turns this quickly…” I couldn’t understand what was happening, or how it had happened, and as the video feed continued to play, it became clear that there was so little that I’d understood. “He fed earlier though, the radio broadcast you read about.” The word ‘fed’ pushed my nausea over the edge and I ran to the bathroom, stumbling towards the toilet and vomiting. For a moment, I stayed on the bathroom floor, considering whether it was just a strange dream, or a nightmare, but it all felt so real, and as I struggled to my feet, wiping my face, I could hear my computer pinging relentlessly, and I rushed back to my computer.

“He’s the same guy that the man in the post was talking about. The fiance” My eyes scanned through the messages, confused and frightened. “He’s getting ready to turn, then he’ll feed and it will move on to the auction.” I put my hand across my mouth as my stomach turned again. “I’m really sorry man.” The tears continued to fall as Sarah fell still against the chair, the figures surrounding her throwing back their hoods to display a crowd of men, all joining in on a chorus of laughter. “It’s almost over, just don’t look.” I had to look. “Here he goes.”

The man at the centre of the circle was standing before Sarah, and he removed his cloak, throwing it behind him with a flourish. He then turned to look at the camera, his eyes seeming to meet with mine as a few of the other men surrounded him, seeming to fuss over his hands and arms. He didn’t break my gaze, seeming to know that I was watching. “They make us show the witnesses.” My mysterious friend typed. “I had to infiltrate them, so I had to play along. Do you understand?”

I closed the message window and opened the video player to full screen, watching as the crowd of men backed away from their leader and the camera zoomed down towards his hands, dripping with blood, glowing, and, to the disbelief of my tired eyes, expanding into sharp, slender claws as the seconds crept by. My phone began to ring but I ignored it, my eyes locked on the leader as he reached his claws up to his face, with a wicked, wide smile and began pulling at the flesh. I recoiled in horror, watching him scratch and peel at his skin, throwing it around the room with a gleeful laugh, as the others laughed. He pulled himself apart, until his true form emerged, pale, almost blue skin, an emaciated body, almost nothing but flesh and bone, sharp, slender claws, and staring back at me were his dark, stony black eyes.

The phone rang again, but I couldn’t take my eye off of the monster before me. He knelt over my sister and pushed his lips forcefully onto hers as the room began to fill with a warm, orange light. She began to lift from the chair, her body surrounded by the light as she floated free of his grasp, a small white wisp escaping her lips and falling down towards his open mouth. As he swallowed, she fell to the ground, the room erupting into sickening laughter as the men began shouting out numbers amidst their laughter.

“Let us start the bidding at £5000 for the brand new Workshop wife.” The hideous creature exclaimed. “She’s soulless, subservient, and all yours if you win our little auction.” He teased, jeered on by the laughter and hooting of the men that surrounded him. “She’s like a toy that never breaks.” He snarled, turning back to the camera, with a sly wink towards me as the feed cut out.

I sat silently in my waking nightmare, staring at the blank screen as my phone rang again. I wasn’t sure what I’d just witnessed, or what would happen next, but I knew that my life would never be the same.

I stayed staring at the screen for an hour, motionless and in a state of shock, with the phone ringing incessantly as I did. It was after an hour that I finally noticed it.

“Don’t ask how I got your number, but it’s me, from Reddit.” I just stared at the screen. I couldn’t find the strength to speak. “A wealthy lawyer from the city got her in the end.” I nodded, unable to think of anything else to say. “He’ll look after her, these guys pay so much because they want a wife that will last.” I broke down again, overwhelmed with everything I’d seen. “She’ll be alive, I mean. She won’t be the same, but she’ll be alive.”

He was right. We talked long into the night about The Workshop, and he helped me find the lawyer. I managed to track down Sarah a few weeks later, and it was like part of her had been stolen. She was alive, and she smiled, but it never seemed to reach her eyes. She didn’t answer back. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t have any interests. She didn’t speak unless spoken to. She was like a robot.

I tried to get her to leave, but the lawyer flashed me a glare, with similar black eyes to the monster, and I knew I couldn’t save her.

That’s what they do. They take girls that laugh, and argue, and fight, and take stupid selfies. They take regular girls, and they let that thing have their souls. They worship him like a good, because he gives them an endless supply of young, beautiful women that don’t fight back. He takes those girls from their lives, their families, from themselves, and sanitises them until they only exist as part of some guy’s life. A trophy. An afterthought.

Not just one girl a day, but several, I’ve seen it, and you’ll see it too. It’s why I stay up all night. I won’t rest until I save every girl that they have their eye on. It could be your daughter. It could be your sister. It could be you.

I’ve called the police, and they just laughed. Like the laughter I heard that night, cruel and mocking.

I talked to my parents but they were convinced by him. They think he’s a nice guy. Nobody believes me, so I’m on this journey alone.

You can find where the girls go after, but I need to find The Workshop. I need to stop them for good. I don’t know why they picked my sister, but one day, they’ll regret that they did. Every man in that circle, that monster that took her away from us, every freak and loser in the chat room, and even my little anonymous friend on Reddit.

I’m going to make them all pay, for Sarah.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Weeding – Part One

My Son is missing, but I have a feeling I know where he is. That sounds ridiculous, so allow me to explain. I don’t know his location, or the address, but I know where he’ll be. I know who he’s with.

It’s those people. Those sick, sick people.

They’ve got my Andrew. I’ve told the police but they didn’t believe me. I called his university and they said there was nothing they could do. I’ve called his phone every day since he disappeared, and today, it stopped going through at all.

He’s at The Garden. My son is locked away with God knows who, and all I know is that he’s at The Garden of The Free Children. What is The Garden? Well, that’s quite simple. It’s a cult.

The worst part is that it didn’t seem like such a bad place at first. That’s how they do it. That’s how they steal away our children. Please listen to me. Yours could be next.

Andrew came home for the Christmas break and told me all about it. He seemed so excited about this “Garden” and all the friends he’d made. I was pleased, because he’s painfully shy and he had always had trouble making friends and connecting with others, so it was great to hear that he was thriving, even if it was through a church group.

He told me that they supported each other and did volunteering, and my mind was at rest, for a little while, anyway.

I wish I’d asked more questions. That’s what I keep coming back to. If I’d have found out more at the time, I’d have an easier time finding him now.

I started to get worried a few days later, when he started sleepwalking.

He had never done that before, he was always a deep, and relatively still sleeper, but I woke up to find him stood at the foot of my bed.

I called out to him, but he didn’t look up. His eyes were closed and he was whispering. As I stood to investigate, my husband pointed out that he had earphones in. Andrew was just standing there, his eyes closed, undeterred as my husband shook his shoulders, constantly chanting all this nonsense about darkness and a Goddess.

He stayed that way for about a minute, before he just collapsed to the floor. In that moment, it felt like my heart stopped. He began chanting again, over and over, just one word.

“Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.”

He began shaking, his whole body, shaking as his eyes opened wide, bloodshot and sore. There was a horrifying gargle from his throat and then he suddenly fell back, still.

We called his name, shaking his almost lifeless body, before he snapped back to life with a smile. He had no memory of any of it. He didn’t remember the chanting, the sleepwalking, the shaking. None of it.

He was cheerful as he stood up, kissing us both on the cheek and wandering off towards his bedroom. I went after him, but he just slammed the door shut, and if I’m honest, I was a little frightened of opening it and confronting him.

I wish the weirdness had stopped there. I wish I could free my Son from this sickness but he’s consumed by these people. They’re eating him alive.

I asked him about the sleepwalking the next day, but he just told me not to worry. It happened every night for the rest of his stay, but he never had any real explanation. He’d just tell me not to worry. Every night, he’d be at the foot of the bed, mindlessly chanting, and then whenever we tried to stop him, he’d fall to the floor.

After the third time, I just stopped sleeping at night. I’d rest during the day while my husband kept an eye on him, but he went on, as normal, as if nothing was happening.

We tried to get him to a doctor, and that was when I saw a major change. He’d never enjoyed going to the doctor, nobody does, but he was never so insistent on not going. He started screaming at the suggestion, ranting about how doctors were untrustworthy and just wanted to butcher people. I’d never seen anything like it. He began packing up his things, and when my husband tried to calm him down, Andrew attacked him.

My Son has never been violent. He’s the opposite of violent. He was always a shy, sensitive boy, but as his father tried to reason with him, Andrew punched him, right in the face.

My husband fell back, in complete shock, and for a moment, there was stillness. It lasted just a second before Andrew launched across the room and began beating and choking his father.

It was like he was feral. I had never seen him that way and it terrified me. He was screaming and yelling. Not words, just noise. Guttural, wild screaming. I tried to pull him away, but there was a strength I’d never felt from him before, he just pushed me aside and continue his assault.

It took several attempts but I managed to finally pull Andrew away. As I checked on my husband, examining his bruised and bloody face, Andrew stormed out of the house, and that was the last time I saw him.

He stopped calling home, and any time I’d call him, it would go to his voicemail. I left messages over and over, saying that I just needed to know he was safe, but he never responded. I wrote letters to him. I called the university. I started leaving daily messages on his Facebook wall, until he shut his profile down. I even set up an Xbox Live account so I could sent a message to his profile there, but he closed the account shortly after.

It was like he was trying to isolate himself more and more from everyone around him, and was determined that nobody was going to reach him.

I decided to travel up to the university to see him, but he wasn’t there. His housemates said that they hadn’t seen him in days, and that he hadn’t attended lectures or seminars in weeks. They’d tried to contact him but had faced the same setbacks that I had.

Apparently, he just took off in the middle of the night, after they confronted him about his strange behaviour. He’d left all his belongings and just disappeared.

I asked them if they knew about the Garden, and their faces fell. One by one, they all explained that it was notorious around the campus. Once people went in, they never came back out.

They told me that the group latches onto vulnerable kids and pulls them in, and after a while, those kids were never seen again. None of them knew where I could find the Garden, just that a couple of girls visit the campus to recruit for them, every couple of weeks.

I’m going to wait here as long as it takes. I’m going to find those girls, and I’m going to make them take me to my Son. It isn’t much of a plan, but it’s all that I’ve got.

I called his phone again, and now I don’t even get his voicemail, it doesn’t even ring. His number has been disconnected, and all I can hope is that I find him soon.

Posted in Blog, Spooky Season

Old Scratch – Day One

This will sound mad. I know it does, but I have to tell someone.

There are scratches up and down my legs. I sleep alone, and have no pets, so I’ve no idea where they came from. This has happened every night for a week, so I’m writing it down now. I don’t really know why, I guess I just need to be sure that I’m not inventing stuff in my head.

Last night, I dreamt of a corridor, and I have done for the last week, but last night was the clearest dream. I could see the emptiness that seemed to go on forever, a dim light up ahead that faded away, but flickered back to life, over and over, as if it was teasing me. A cruel light that seemed like it was self aware, like it could sense my fear. Again, I am aware that I sound mad, but I promise you, I’m not. At least, I hope I’m not.

I walked forward, even though I didn’t want to, and I could feel the air turn to ice with every step. The floor felt frosty, and I was afraid to look down.

His laughter was loud. I don’t know who. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was there. Him. Maybe in the darkness before me, maybe in the shadows that lurked behind, sometimes above me, and sometimes on the ground, where I couldn’t look. It seemed to be everywhere. A smoky, maniacal laugh. Nothing more, just laughter. One voice that seemed to bounce around the corridor.

I felt like if I reached the end, I’d be safe, but something in me knew I wouldn’t make it. I can’t explain why, I just looked ahead and felt that my fate was already sealed.

Last night was the night that I got close. As I approached the light, I saw a hand holding it. It was a lantern, held by a hand that crept from the darkness. A single, skeletal hand, swinging the lantern to and fro. The light was brighter as I got closer, flashing madly.

Yellow. Red. Yellow. Red. Yellow. Red.

I reached out to touch it. My hands shaking with the rest of my body. It was so close, and I wondered if maybe I could be safe, after all.


My eyes snapped open and I was back in bed, alone. I pulled back the covers, to see the marks I knew would be there. Deep scratches up and down my legs. He had visited.